ships still survive, many of them magnificent specimens not only of
marine architecture, but also of the cunning handiwork of the modern
“rigger.” The enormous sail-area shown by some of these ships and the
immense spread of their yards would have staggered the daring skippers
of forty years ago, when the China tea-clippers were the greyhounds of
the seas, and the Yankee flyers were wiping the eyes of their sturdy
British compeers. But in order to see these majestic vessels at their
best it is necessary to be on board one of them on a voyage to or
from the Far East. Their troubles are often many and their hindrances
great until they reach those Southern parallels where, after a spell
of “doldrums” varying with the season, they pick up those brave west
winds that, unhindered, sweep in almost constant procession around the
landless Southern slopes of the world. This is no place for weaklings
either among ships or men. If a passage is to be made and a vessel’s
reputation for swiftness, apart from steam-power, to be either
sustained or acquired, here is the field. There is none like unto
it. Not only should canvas, hemp, and steel be of the best, but the
skipper must be stout of heart, not to be daunted by threatening skies,
mountainous seas, or wandering islands of ice. More than all these,
he must to-day be prepared to face the probability of his scanty crew
being quite unable to handle the gigantic pinions of his vessel should
the favouring breeze rise, as it often does, to such a plenitude of
power as to make it most dangerous for them to be longer spread.
To take a typical instance: the 5000 ton four-masted sailing ship
_Coryphæna_, laden with general merchandise for Melbourne, reached the
latitude of Cape Frio on the thirty-fifth day from London. Like all of
her class, she was but weakly manned, but as if to provide against any
possible emergencies of sail-carrying, her enormous masts of mild steel
were quadruply stayed with steel cables, until they were almost like an
integral part of the massive fabric herself. From truck to mast-coat
not a shaking of hemp was used for cordage where steel wire rope or
chain could be made available. Neither were any old-time lashings,
lanyards, or seizings to be seen. Their places were filled by screws
and levers, whereby one man could exert more power on a shroud or a guy
than was formerly possible to a dozen, aided by a complicated web of
tackles. And the sails, those vast breadths of canvas that, when set,
made the mighty hull appear but a trivial thing beneath their superb
spread, were of the heaviest quality woven, their seams, leaches, and
roaches fortified by all the devices known to the sailmaker.
The skipper paced the poop with uncertain steps, hardly able to conceal
his impatience at the dallying of the light airs that only made the
great squares of canvas slam sullenly against the masts, and wear
themselves thin. Longingly his eyes lingered on the western horizon,
hungering for sign of the “Westerlies.” His eager gaze was at last
rewarded by the vision of a sombre arch of lowering cloud, which
slowly upreared its grim segment above the setting sun. The fitful
south-easterly airs, dregs of the “Trades,” which in their feeble
variableness had so sorely tried his patience, gradually sank like the
last few breaths of some expiring monster, leaving the sea glassy and
restful under the dark violet of the evening sky. Only a long, regular
swell came rolling eastward in rhythmical march, its placid undulations
swaying the huge vessel gently as the drowsy rocking of an infant’s
cradle. But its indications were sufficiently precise to satisfy the
skipper, who, after a peaceful pipe, retired early to rest, leaving
orders to call him in the event of any sudden change. His manner,
however, indicated that he expected nothing of the kind. After his
departure the chief officer prowled restlessly about the quarterdeck,
being a man to whom the stagnation of a calm was an unmitigated
calamity. At present his only satisfaction lay in noting how steadily
the celestial bridge astern grew in breadth and altitude, while at the
same time the swell became deeper, longer, and more definite in its
direction.
By four bells the summits of the climbing cumuli forming the
immeasurable arch in the west were right overhead, while the sky within
its radius was now overspread with a filmy veil that hid the stars from
view. Suddenly a chill breath touched his ear, sensitive as a hound’s,
and immediately his fretful lassitude was gone. He stood erect, alert,
every nerve tense, ready for action. “Stand by, the watch!” he roared,
and in response a few dark figures slouched into sight from the shadowy
corners where they had been dozing away the leaden-footed hours. Then
a cool stream of air came steadily flowing from the mysterious centre
of the gloom abaft. “Square the main-yard!” shouted the mate again;
and with eerie, wailing cries the great steel tubes were trimmed to
the coming breeze. The order was hardly executed before, with a rush
and a scream, out leapt the west wind from its lair, while with many
a sharp report and grinding of gear being drawn into its grooves the
huge fabric obeyed the compelling impulse and began her three thousand
league stretch to the eastward. By midnight it blew a gale, to which
the same vessel, had she been bound in the opposite direction, must
needs have shown but a scanty spread of sail. Now, nothing was further
from the intention of the gleeful mate than the starting of a single
thread.
At the relieving of the watch the skipper was called and informed
of the change, so that upon him should rest the responsibility for
“carrying on.” For the driving fragments of storm-rent cloud were low,
and by their meteor speed foretold that this was but a foretaste of
the tempest to follow. Planting himself in his favourite attitude on
the extreme weather-quarter, the captain fixed his eyes on the upper
sails with a look of supreme content, though to an inexperienced gaze
they would have seemed on the point of bursting into shreds, their
very stitch-holes strained to gaping a quarter-inch long. Every one
of her thirty-four wings were spread and drawing, for the wind being
well on the quarter, allowed of the yards being canted forward, while
the ship went “steady as a church,” with a ten-degree list to port.
Still the wind increased and faster drove the ship, until by daylight
she was going a full sixteen knots, which, in spite of the Yankee
yarns anent the _James Baines_, her main skysail, and her twenty-one
knots, is about the maximum possible under sail. The first cheerless
gleams of the new day revealed an awe-inspiring view. Far as could
be seen the ocean surface was torn into snowy foam by the raging
wind, for the sea had not yet time to get into the gigantic stride it
would presently take in sympathy with the irresistible march of the
all-compelling storm. “Fine breeze, sir,” chuckled the mate, rubbing
his hands with delight. “Only hope it’ll hold,” replied the skipper,
peering keenly aft into the eye of the wind. There, to a landsman, the
sight was ominous, almost appalling. Dense masses of distorted nimbus
came hurtling out of the deep gloom, which seemed to grow blacker and
more menacing every hour. So through the howling day the big ship fled
onward like a frightened thing, steady and straight as an ice-yacht
over Lake Michigan, although at times an incipient sea smote her
broadside, and, baffled, cast its crest aloft, where the shrieking
blast caught it and whirled it in needle-like particles as high as the
upper topsails.
When night drew in the sea had fairly risen, and came bellowing along
in mountainous masses many miles in length at a speed that bade fair
to overtake the fleeing ship. Strange it was to note how, as the waves
grew, the ship seemed to dwindle until her huge bulk appeared quite
insignificant. And now, at frequent intervals, enormous bodies of
broken water hurled themselves on board, often filling the spacious
decks flush fore and aft with a seething flood. And still the “old
man,” hung on, his courage and faith in the powers of his ship being
justly rewarded by a week’s run of over two thousand miles without
the loss of a rope-yarn. Then the breeze gradually faltered, swerved
from its steadfast direction, and worked round by the south, until
at south-east it dropped lifeless for an hour or so. Then out from
the north-east it rushed like a raving genie, almost catching the
ship aback, and giving the scanty band of toilers a tremendous task
to handle the immense squares of canvas that thundered like infuriate
monsters against their restraining bonds. But in a short time the gale
had veered round into the westward again, and the _Coryphæna_ resumed
her headlong race to the east. Running upon the arc of a great circle,
she gradually worsened the weather as she reached higher latitudes.
Stinging snow squalls came yelling after her, hiding everything behind
a bitter veil. Past gigantic table-topped icebergs, floating mountains
against whose gaunt sides the awful billows broke with deafening
clangour, flinging their hissing fragments hundreds of feet into the
gloomy sky. At last so fierce grew the following storm that the task of
reducing sail became absolutely necessary. All hands were called and
sped aloft to the unequal conflict. Scourged by the merciless blast,
battered by the threshing sails, they strove for dear life through two
terrible hours of that stern night. A feeble cry was heard,--a faint
splash. Only a man dropped from the main top-gallant yard,--through one
hundred and twenty feet of darkness into the yeasty smother beneath,
and ere the news reached the deck, calm and peaceful below the tumult,
more than a mile astern, swallowed by the ever-unsatisfied maw of the
ravening sea. And onward like a meteor sped the flying ship, “running
her Easting down.”
VII
IN THE CROW’S NEST
Swinging through the clear sky, one hundred feet above the little
stretch of white deck that looks so strangely narrow and circumscribed,
the period of two hours assigned for a spell is often spent in strange
meditations. For all the circumstances are favourable to absolute
detachment from ordinary affairs. A man feels there cut off from the
world, a temporary visitor to a higher sphere, from whose serene
altitude the petty environment of daily life appears separated by a
vast gulf. Rising to that calm plane in the shimmering pearly twilight
of a tropical dawn, he is enabled to view, as from no other standpoint,
the daily mystery and miracle of the sunrise. For he forgets the
tiny microcosm below, involuntarily looking upward into the infinite
azure until his mind becomes consciously akin to eternal verities,
and sheds for a brief space the gross hamperings of fleshly needs and
longings. At such a time, especially if the heavens be one stainless
concave of blue, the advent of the new day is so overwhelming in
its glory that the soul is flooded with a sense of celestial beauty
unutterable. Beautiful and glorious indeed are the changing tints and
varying hues of early dawn upon the fleecy fields of cloud, but the
very changeableness of the wondrous scene is unfavourable to the simple
settlement of wondering, worshipping thought induced by the birth of
unclouded light. At first there appears upon the eastern edge of the
vast, sharply-defined circle of the horizon, that by a familiar optical
illusion seems to bound a sapphire concavity of which the spectator is
the centre, a tremulous, silky paling of the tender blue belonging to
the tropical night. The glowing stars grow fainter, dimmer, ceasing
to coruscate like celestial jewels studding the soft, dark canopy
of the sky. Unlingering, the palpitating sheen spreads zenithwards,
presently sending before it as heralds wide bars of radiance tinted
with blends of colour not to be reproduced by the utmost skill of the
painter. Before their triumphal advent the great cone of the zodiacal
light, which, like a stupendous obelisk rising from the mere shadow
of some ineffable central glow, to which the gigantic sun itself is
but a pale star, has dominated the moonless hours, fades and vanishes.
Far reaching, these heavenly messengers gild the western horizon, but
when the eye returns to their source it has become “a sea of glass
mingled with fire,”--a fire which consumes not, and, while glowing
with unfathomable splendour, has yet a mildness that permits the eye
to search its innermost glories unfalteringly and with inexpressible
delight.
But while the satisfied sight dwells upon this transcendent scene,
forgetting that it is not the only morning in earth’s history when it
is to be lavished upon a favoured world, there is a sudden quickening
of the throbbing light, along the sharp blue edge of the ocean runs a
blazing rim of molten gold, and in a perfect silence, beneath which
may be felt the majestic music of the spheres, the sun has come. Turn
away the head; the trembling eyes cannot for an instant dwell upon
that flaming fervent globe that at one mighty stride is already far
above the horizon. The sweet face of the sea wears a million sparkling
smiles of welcome--everywhere the advent of the Day-bringer has decked
it with countless flashing gems. As if ecstatic in their appreciation
of the banishment of night, a school of porpoises five thousand strong
indulge in riotous gambols. Leaping high into the bright air, their
shining, lithe bodies all a-quiver with pure joy of abundant life, they
churn the kindly sea into foam, leaving in their mad, frolicsome rush a
wide track of white on the smoothness behind them. So flawless is the
calm that even the tiny argosy of the nautilus is tempted to rise and
spread its silken sail, a lovely gauzy curve just a shade or so lighter
in hue than the sapphire of the sea, and so discernible from that
height to the practised eye. In quick succession more and more appear,
until a fairy fleet of hundreds is sailing as if bearing Titania and
her train to some enchanted isles, where never wind blows loudly. But
lo! as if at a signal from a pigmy Admiral, the squadron has vanished
bubble-wise. From where they lately rode in mimic pageant rises,
ghost-like, a vast flock of flying-fish, the hum of whose vibrant
wing-fins ascends to the ear. Many thousands in number, glistening in
the sunblaze like burnished silver, they glide through the air with
incredible speed, the whole shoal rising and falling in wave-like
undulations as if in the performance of preconcerted evolutions. They
have been flying upon a plane of perhaps twenty feet above the sea for
some five hundred yards, and are just about to re-enter the water, when
beneath them appear the iridescent beauties of a school of dolphin (not
the dull-hued mammal, but the poet-beloved fish). At that dread sight
the solid phalanx breaks up, hurled back upon itself in the disorder of
deadly panic. In little groups, in single fugitives, they scatter to
every point of the compass, a hopelessly disorganised mob, whereof the
weaker fall to swift oblivion in the gaping jaws of their brilliant,
vigorous foes beneath. The main body sheer off, sadly thinned, in a
fresh direction, long quivering raiders launching themselves in hot
pursuit upon their rear, devouring as they rush, until eaters and
eaten disappear, and the battlefield lies in placid beauty as if never
disturbed. One hovering bird, a “bo’sun,” with long slender tail
and feathers of purest white, circles around on unmoving, outspread
pinions, slowly turning his pretty head, with dark incurious eyes, upon
the strange biped so awkwardly perched in his dominions of upper air.
Whence and when did he come? A moment since and he was not. Did the
vacant ether produce him? Yet another moment and he is gone as he came,
leaving behind him a palpable sense of loss.
But now all attention is concentrated upon the horizon, where the
trained eye has caught a glimpse of something of greater interest than
either bird or fish. A series of tiny puffs, apparently of steam,
rises from the shining surface, but so evanescent that nothing but
long-practised vision would discern them at so great a distance.
Irregularly, both as to time and position, they appear, a shadowy
procession of faintest indefinite outlines, a band of brief shadows.
Yet upon them eager eyes are bent in keenest attention, for they
represent possibilities of substantial gain, and bring the mind back
from the realms of pure romance with the swiftness of a diving sea-bird
down to the hard necessities of everyday life. They are the breathings
of marine mammalia, mightiest of ocean’s citizens, and strangest of
links between the inhabitants of land and sea. A little keen scrutiny,
however, reveals the disappointing fact that those feathery phantoms
mark the presence of that special species of whales who enjoy complete
immunity from attack either from above or below. Their marvellous
agility, no less than the exiguous covering of fat to which they have
reduced the usually massive blubber borne by their congeners, gives
abundant reason why they should be thus unmolested. So they roam the
teeming seas in the enviable, as well as almost unique, position among
the marine fauna of exemption from death, except by sickness or old
age, as much as any sedate, law-abiding citizen of London. They seem
to be well aware of their privileges, for they draw near the ship
with perfect confidence, heeding her huge shadow no more than if she
were a mass of rock rising sheer from the ocean-bed, and incapable
of harm to any of the sea-folk. From our lofty eyrie we watch with
keenest interest the antics of these great creatures, their amatory
gambols, parental care, elegant ease, and keen sportiveness. Yonder
piebald monster, who seems the patriarch of the school, after basking
placidly in the scorching rays of the sun, now high in the heavens,
gravely turns a semi-somersault, elevating the rear half of his body
(some forty feet or so) out of the water. Then with steady, tremendous
strokes he beats the water, the hundred square feet of his tail falling
flatly with a reverberation like the sound of a distant bombardment.
The others leap out of water, sedately as becomes their bulk, or roll
over and over each other upon the surface, occasionally settling down
until they look like fish of a foot or so in length. They even dare to
chafe their barnacle-studded sides against the vessel’s keel, sending
a strange tremor through her from stem to stern, which is even felt in
the “crow’s nest.” But no one molests them in any way; in fact, it must
be placed to the whaler’s credit that he rarely takes life for “sport,”
though callous as iron where profit of any kind may be secured.
Oh, the heat; as if one’s head were a focus for the sun himself, since
there is little else for many leagues exposed for him to assail except
the mirror-like ocean. Thence, too, the heat rises as if to place us
between two fires, until we feel like the fakirs of India undergoing
their self-imposed penance of the swing. How fervently thankful we
are when at last the glorious orb descends so low that his slanting
rays lose their power in great measure, and permit us again to take
a reviving interest in our surroundings. Yon floating tree, for
instance; we have long been wondering in a vague sort of dream what
it might be. And indeed its appearance is strange enough to warrant
considerable speculation. It has been adrift for months, and except
upon the side which floats uppermost, is covered with barnacles, whose
adhering feet have extended in some instances to a fathom in length,
the tiny shells being almost invisible at the free ends. This wealth
of living covering, waving gently as the log is rocked by the unseen
swell, gives the whole thing an uncanny look, as of some strange
unclassified monster “begotten of the elder slime.” Around it are
playing in shoals fish of many kinds seen only in deep waters--fish
of every luminous tint that can be imagined, and ranging in size from
the lordly albacore, weighing a quarter of a ton, to the tiny caranx
of a couple of inches long. But hush! there is a priceless freshness
in the air. The weary day is shaking off the fervent embrace of her
exhaustless bridegroom. Gentle, lovely shades of colour are replacing
the intense glow. A little, little breeze creeps cautiously along,
ruffling the grateful sea in patches of purple shadow. A more subdued
glory gathers in the west than heralded the sun’s ascending--a tenderer
range of tints, like the afterglow of autumn as compared with the
flaming blossoms of spring. For a few brief moments the gorgeous golden
disc swims upon the edge of the lambent sea, and he is gone. Swiftly
following him, the brilliant hues fade from the sky, shyly the stars
peep out, and it is night.
VIII
THE BIRTH OF AN ISLAND
For many years Pacific mariners, both of white and dusky races, had
known and dreaded the dangers of the Marae Reef. It lay right in the
track of vessels between Opolu and Nieuwe, only visible to the seaman’s
eye from the mast-head on calm days as a slight discoloration of the
brilliant blue sea that everywhere else bared its unstained depths
of single colour. With a fresh Trade blowing there was no difficulty
in locating it, for it made its menace heard as well as seen. The
long, indolent Pacific swell, sweeping majestically from continent to
continent across half the world, met this mushroom growth in its mighty
path and immediately raised its awful voice in thunderous protest
against such an addition to the already innumerable dangers of that
perilous region. Not only so, but as if it would uproot the intruder
from its massy foundations that broadened down into the matrix of the
world, the wrathful wave arose in gigantic billows of foaming white,
in the midst of which momentarily appeared the defiant summits of
living rock, steadfast and secure, while the ageless ocean vainly
sought to uproot it from its eternal base. But such scenes were of the
most infrequent occurrence. The normal conditions of those waters were
peaceful, and the swell scarcely heavy enough to raise even a solitary
breaker once a day. And as the scanty trade between the islands grew
less and less, the danger of the reef, nay, almost its very existence,
passed out of men’s minds.
Still, heedless of either elemental strife or serenest calm, the
microscopic masons toiled on, each in its tiny cell content to fulfil
the conditions of its being and to add its infinitesimal quota to
the world-fragment; then, having justified its existence, to pass
into other forms of usefulness by means of the ever-active alchemy of
Nature. But for those of the builders whose lot it was to reach the
summit of the fabric which their united efforts had reared there was
another ending, or rather transmutation. A swift oblivion awaited them,
a sudden severance from their life-work, as the reef, now awash, was
left temporarily dry by the ebbing tide. Yet all around them uncounted
myriads of their co-workers toiled eagerly upward to the same personal
fate, the same collective achievement, each adding some essential
to form the perfect whole. Thus from generation to generation the
fabric grew, so slowly by man’s reckoning, so swiftly according to the
hasteless chronology of creation, until there came a day when, after
a more placid period even than usual, the bared surface of the reef
became covered with a dazzling floor of minutest fragments, ground from
the countless pinnacles below by the unceasing attrition of the waves.
Tide after tide lapped the infant beach, with kindliest murmur as of
tender welcome, ever bringing fresh store of shining sand, until at
low water of the spring tides there was a new spot of earth’s surface
gleaming white in that expanse of blue, like a snowflake new-fallen
upon a vast sapphire.